Jangthoff, the Second!

Prince Karl von Porckenstauffen and General Bazyli Antonin Unpronunski watch from their headquarters the progression of the Rotenburg infantry. The advance of the enemy musketeers is well-organised, precise, determined, and also, therefore, rather surprising.

'They won't just keep coming straight on like that, will they?' asks the general.

'No, no general', replies the prince, surveying the attack. 'I cannot believe that the Rotenburg plan would simply entail just marching straight up to us and firing. I should imagine at some stage that there will be some attempt at a clever manoeuvre - perhaps they will suddenly wheel, or, their cavalry perhaps will quickly dash up and threaten us with combined arms'.

'Possibly', answers the general, clearly sceptical, 'Although they seem usually to struggle with using just one arm'.

Adjutant von Hardtpumping then adds, 'Or, perhaps this infantry advance is just a feint before their artillery begins to fire for effect'.

There is a round of dismissive noises from the headquarters staff.

'Artillery - really?' chuckles the general. 

'What, you mean turning on their smoke machines?' chortles Prince Karl. 'I've never quite understood the purpose of artillery'.

'Well', says Unpronunski, 'Where would one put those intelligent, educated, non-noble officers?'

'We could incorporate them into our officer corps and so increase its professionalism and technical expertise' replies the adjutant.

There is much laughter.

'War isn't won by professionalism and expertise, adjutant', scoffs the prince.

'Although in our case', adds the general sadly, 'it really doesn't seem to be won at all.'

(Above) 'Well, well', concludes Prince Karl after a further examination of the Rotenburg lines. 'It really does look as if the Rotenburgers are engaged in executing a crude frontal assault. Probably, it's their failed attempt at a clever flank attack.'
'That's probably it', says the general, unconvinced.
Karl nods: 'Yes, thank goodness that they didn't actually plan a frontal assault, because no doubt that would have appeared on our flanks in no time at all. Surely a frontal assault plays to out strengths.'
'Our entire battle line is comprised of conscripts, Prince Karl', says Unpronunski wearily. 'I'm not sure that they really have any strengths to play to'.
Karl snorts. 'Give them time, general: give them a little time to get used to the sight of the enemy and I guarantee that they will become more composed'.
'More composted is more likely' whispers the general under his breath.

Furst Augustus Saxe-Peste nods grimly as he watches his infantry advance. The resonant sound of flutes and drums wafts back to his position. To his left, however, the reassuring din of the movement of his infantry is suddenly drowned out by the thunder of massed "clippety clops". Is his cavalry now going forwards?
 'Beelzebub's barnacled bottom!' cries the Furst in ire. 'Wankrat - is that the sound of my cavalry advancing? I expressly ordered them not to advance; not, in fact, to do anything at all!'.
'I think, my lord, that your officers of horse have been innovating in order to overcome the inexperience of your conscript cavalrymen and their problems in controlling their mounts'.
The furst peers through his spyglass into the distant mass of his cavalry from which the clamorous noise emanates. 'What?' he shouts. The furst slumps. 'Bloody hell, Wankrat - please tell me that those aren't coconut shells'.

Prince Karl turns to General Unpronunski. 'Now is the time, general. I advised you to deploy our cavalry aggressively so that we might remove the pressure from our weak infantry with a carefully timed counter-blow. The enemy have kept their foot in close formation, but that leaves their sides exposed; especially that to our left, which is covered only by artillery. Launch a frontal assault with our cavalry. We'll soon be upon their vulnerable flank!'
Unpronunski nods in assent.

(Above)  'Forwards!' cries Prince Karl.
'By which', adds the adjutant to the courier, 'Our dear prince means wheel to the left, then go forwards, then wheel to the right and prepare to charge!'
Prince Karl scowls. 'I think that that was implicit in my order'.
'This is Mittelheim, my lord', replies the adjutant evenly. 'Nothing is implicit - except perhaps for the poverty in the quality of government, the unhappiness of the peasantry, and the gluttony of King Wilhelm of Gelderland'.
'Well', replies Karl, 'There you are wrong, my man. I also have some quite implicit French illustrated pamphlets in my tent'.
'I expect that you mean, sir, that they are "explicit"'.
'No, no. I still think that behind the obvious messages explored by the heaving plumpies and dimpled buttocks of the undressed actresses, there are in fact some quite weighty subtexts'.
'You mean, sir, that the actresses are fat?'
'No. No. No. Well, yes they are. But what I mean - or what I think that I'm implying that I mean, is that these pictures of French actresses artistically undressing say something quite profound about the condition of man'.
'You mean your condition?' says the general.
'No, no, no. Well, yes. But beyond my obvious sans britches condition in the presence of these pamphlets, I feel that the dear French ladies disrobing says something about, well, freedom'.
The general nods. 'The freedom that comes with not having one's britches on?'
'No, no, no. Actually,' ponders Karl, 'Yes - you might be right. Well, well, well. So that's what radical philosophers are talking about when they bang on about freedom and the rights of man'.
'Exactly sir', says Hardtpumping, 'It's all about one's rights as a man to be free of one's trousers'.
The prince nods. 'Well. What a surprising morning. It turns out that I am a philosopher as well as a general'.
'Steady on, sir' says the adjutant.
'Your're right, it's too early to say I'm a philosopher ...'
'I think', says Unpronunski, 'That he meant the element relevant to the general ...'
'I think therefore I am', declaims Prince Karl.
'You are what, sir?' asks the adjutant.
'Well', says Karl, reflecting philosophically as hard as he can, 'I would say at the moment that I am mostly hungry. Well, there I go again. I am, it seems, a philosopher'.
'Or are you?' replies the general archly.
Karl is about to answer before he cottons on. 'Ah, clever, clever. Excellent. What better thing is there on a bright morning than some learned philosophical discourse'.
'Issuing orders', says the general, 'And directing the battle?'
The prince blows a raspberry. 'You know what, Unpronunski, you're always spoiling my fun'.

Through his telescope, Saxe-Peste sees the enemy cavalry, all three regiments of it, ride swiflty across the face of his infantry line heading for his right flank. A choice now faces the furst - he can halt the advance of his infantry and wheel his troops to face the cavalry; or he can damn their eyes, curse them to do their worst and push on regardless. The furst, however, is a learner. A slow one, to be sure, but nevertheless, here he is able to draw upon his previous experiences at the battle of  Nottelbad. There, faced with the threat of a cavalry envelopment, he halted his infantry and turned to face them, an action which effectively ended his attack and handed the initiative to his adversary. The furst is not a man to be caught out twice - except of course, when he is. (Above) he chooses his second option and ignores the cavalry. Using the advantages of oblique manoeuvre, he shifts his infantry so that they can pass the enemy horse.

(Below) The Wurstburp cavalry continue their frontal assault around the flank of the Rotenburg infantry line.
'Excellent!' says Furst Augustus to Captain Wankrat, 'Our advancing infantry have avoided becoming entangled in the enemy cavalry and are pushing on towards Jangthof hill. Hah! The feeble enemy horsed regiments have been left in the air with nothing to attack but our flanks and rear'. The furst pauses. 'Hmmm, hang on ...'

(Above) The margravate's cavalry are now in a position to, as it were, 'do their wurst'. The Rotenburg artillery have prepared well for their allocated role in the battle. That is, they have arranged some chairs from which they can watch the battle and broached a barrel of fermented leech ale. As they watch from their repose the progress of the Wurstburp horseman, a small niggle begins to develop in their minds; a niggle that, as the enemy cavalry continue their manoeuvre, expands first to a concern; and then to a major consideration; before escalating into a condition that might legitimately require the wetting of their underpants.
Furst Augustus looks on through his telescope. 'Oh dear', he says quietly.
Wankrat nods. 'Shall I get your spoons ready, my lord?'